Summer City Rain
by Goblin Cat KC
Summary: Leonardo and Michelangelo attend a New York street festival of Obon, but the night grows dangerous when they realize that they are no longer alone, not even on the empty streets. Part 1 of 2.


**Summer City Rain**

by KC

 **Disclaimer** : Not my characters.

 **Summary** : Leonardo and Michelangelo attend a New York festival of Obon. A ghost story to chill the blood on a hot summer day.

 **Author's Notes** : 1st part of a 2 part story. And it's coming very fitfully. It took awhile to realize what this story wanted to do.

* * *

A cool salt-water breeze blew in from the ocean, sweeping through the open air market, and as the sun sank, Obon celebrations could finally begin. Clouds, thick and grey, lay in great patches over the sky, colored violet and gold by the sunset. The stars appeared in between, and the full moon came in and out of view with the wind. Once the sun finally dipped behind the water and the night rushed over the street, the piped-in music began, lonesome strings of strange music that left hollow echoes through the street.

As far as the celebrants were concerned, the ghosts had arrived.

Paper lanterns, white but yellowing with age, turned in the wind, casting a lurid light over the growing crowd. Curious tourists and knowledgeable locals mingled on the sidewalks, half-lit, half-shadowed, buying white candles for souvenir lanterns. Every window sill held burning sticks of incense, the heady smoke wafting into the air.

Outside, food trucks fiercely defended their spots on the sidewalk, wafting spiced steam over their hastily erected benches and tarps. Street vendors slid side by side, slinging heaps of noodles and seafood on sticks while others poured molten caramel into delicate shapes of the zodiac. A handful of vendors set out misters and fans above their carts, blowing away the heat and luring in customers. And if they kept a seat reserved for the unseen diners, that only encouraged tourists to spend a little more.

Police stood at attention at the far ends of the street, blocking the road with concrete barriers while others roamed through the dense crowds, stopping inside tiny restaurants to buy cheap coffee and indulge in the air conditioning.

And above the crowd, the lanterns lent only a pale gloom that faded into deep shadows over the highest ledges, hiding the unseen watchers on the roofs. Two ninja, crouched in shadow, indulged in a rare night without danger.

"Don and Raph are missing out." Michelangelo tilted his caramel dragon, crunching off its head. "They are totally missing out."

"You know how Donny gets when he's up to his elbows in grease," Leonardo said, finishing his own caramel rooster.

"Yeah, boring," Michelangelo said. "When're they gonna start the parade?"

"Not for a couple more hours," Leonardo said. "But the concerts'll happen out by the pier, and then the fireworks."

Michelangelo turned quickly. "There's gonna be fireworks?"

Leonardo nodded.

"Yes!" Michelangelo breathed, careful to stay quiet even this far from the people below. "I've been so bummed since missing the July fourth stuff."

Leonardo smiled, looking down at the throng of people, but his expression was clouded. His little brother had missed the Independence day fireworks because a Foot clan spear had taken him in the side, laying him out for several weeks. This was Michelangelo's first outing in months, and it was more than just a celebration of him walking on his own two feet again.

Master Splinter's instructions had been clear. "Be sure he is not hiding any pain. Watch for lingering injuries. And...do not let him out of your sight."

Leonardo had nodded obediently, feeling the same emotions. In stabbing Michelangelo, the Foot had stabbed at the heart of the family.

But the Foot did not seem to be out tonight, certainly not in the middle of a festival. Leonardo would have preferred having Donatello or Raphael with them, if only as backup, but Donatello was high on caffeine and a new invention, and Raphael...

Leonardo put his brother's sullen mood out of mind. He and his little brother were out in the open air, nestled on the dark roof above two smaller buildings. He could put away his ever present doubts and worries for a moment.

"Well," he said, finishing off a last takoyaki ball. "I could do with another round. You up for it?"

"Can we get sake?" Michelangelo asked, turning on the puppy dog eyes when Leonardo balked. "Please? Just one little bottle between the two of us? It's Bon! We should be able to have just a little! You know neither of us'll get drunk."

The last was said so matter of factly that Leonardo couldn't help his laugh.

"Fine," he said. "Get a few. Splinter would kill us if we didn't bring any back."

Michelangelo grinned. "Seriously? Sweet! Be right back!"

Over the edge he went. Leonardo leaned over and watched him land on a fire escape, then jump to a lower window and finally land behind a dumpster. He leaned a little to his left, putting his hand briefly to his side, and Leonardo breathed in sharply, tense in case he would have to go down after him.

Moving behind the street vendors was risky, as lit and crowded as they were. Michelangelo didn't try, keeping to the long shadows thrown by the lanterns and occasionally climbing the store fronts, balancing on awnings and finally swooping into a dark window two floors up from the shop.

Never looking away from the shop front, Leonardo knelt down, resting against the ledge. He never would have allowed this if the festival wasn't so dark. Even the humans who looked up at the moon didn't really see the rooftops, only black silhouettes against a cloudy sky. The food carts glowed and the shop windows poured out light, but even those were beginning to dim, lit by candles to better set an atmosphere that would loosen tourist dollars.

Between the small pools of light, the paths through darkness became wider and wider, giving ghosts a wide berth to walk, and enough room for a ninja, too.

Long minutes passed. Leonardo's hands tightened on the ledge, but he forced himself to wait. Michelangelo would come out. Michelangelo would be fine. Michelangelo would-

His little brother appeared again, a small bag in hand as he crept out like a spider, moving more along the wall than below, a creeping shadow that clung fast to the thin pipes on the storefronts. Leonardo counted them off as he passed each one-the sushi vendor, the ramen food cart, the ice cream truck—up the fire escape—

"I am seriously awesome," Michelangelo whispered as he came back up over the ledge. "Here, hold this, would ya?"

Leonardo took the offered bag and the two bowls he found balanced in his brother's outstretched hand. Michelangelo turned, plopping himself so he could dangle his legs off the side, and Leonardo put his hand on his brother's shoulder, pulling him back into the safer shadows. Michelangelo gave him a look as he took back the bag.

"One of those is for you, worrywart," Michelangelo said, nodding at the bowls. "You like the egg best, right?"

Blinking, Leonardo looked at the dishes he'd been handed. Egg ramen and shrimp ramen. So Michelangelo hadn't just been sneaking around.

"Nice," he said, handing him the other bowl. "Now all we need is desert."

"I'll hit the ice cream truck later," Michelangelo said, already pouring sake into two small cups. As he handed one to Leonardo, his smile turned more knowing. "And then I get a clean bill of health?"

Not surprised that he'd been found out, Leonardo tipped back the cup, shuddering at the taste. "We'll see, grasshopper. Can't blame us for wanting to be sure."

"I get it," Michelangelo said, drinking with him. "I just dun wanna get sidelined 'cause I stumble a little bit, right?"

Leonardo gave a little roll of his eyes. He had never seen his little brother stumble except theatrically to spill into one of their arms or into a surprise hug.

"Brat...you wouldn't stumble if you had to walk back home on your hands," he said.

"You know it."

More than running the rooftops or stealing candy, Michelangelo's cocky laugh reassured Leonardo that his brother felt well.

It wasn't enough to convince Leonardo's biting anxiety. He hoped by the end of the night that he could agree in his heart. For now, he would watch his brother like a hawk and hope to see enough to convince himself.

An ocean breeze cut through the smoke, making Michelangelo shudder, and he began to eat in earnest to cut the chill. Before he ate, Leonardo glanced back over the rooftops one more time just to make sure they were alone. He'd dropped several caltrops and spikes along the roof so anyone trying to sneak up on them would cry out, but he kept glancing over his shoulder, looking for source of the gnawing feeling of movement on the empty roof.

"Kinda wish I got the tea, too," Michelangelo said, pouring another cup. "Sake doesn't warm you up as much."

"Wind's not that bad," Leonardo said, turning from the darkness. "Besides, hard to carry a tea pot this high up."

Michelangelo chuckled, then frowned as he noticed something near the street, and he pointed with the cup in his hand.

"What's up with that?"

"Huh?" Leonardo followed his look. "Oh, the candles."

Several people stood in the alcove of a restaurant, lighting long white candles and setting them down by a cross they had placed by the front steps. They stood for a moment, hands clasped, as they added a long strip of paper with calligraphy. The oldest also placed a small bowl of incense that sent a tiny plume of smoke up to join the rest, a tiny part added to a growing haze above the street.

"They're just giving offerings," Leonardo said. "Someone must've died there."

"Yeah, but why the cross?"

Leonardo shrugged. "Dunno. People mix religions, I guess."

As if to punctuate his thought, a handful of flames lit a narrow alley, casting a red glow over the young man squatting on the ground, feeding a tiny fire with bits of paper. His cigarette burned bright for a moment, then faded again in a rush of smoke from his mouth, blowing ashes into the street. Hell money burned for ghosts, and whose flame made the sugar skulls in the ice cream cart glisten.

They ate, occasionally pointing out different tourists, the food truck they might snitch food from next. Then, to while away the time before the concerts, they began the training exercises that Michelangelo referred to as ninja games.

"The copper bell in the shop window," Leonardo said, pointing to a simple target, something that wouldn't pull at his brother's scar.

"With the little red knots all over it?" Michelangelo nodded. "Watch this."

Now Michelangelo backed up, sprinted and used the ledge to leap over the street. He still had to springboard off a streetlamp to reach the other building, but it gave him an easy jump to the second story, where he quietly lifted the window and snagged the good luck charm.

Leonardo sighed and watched him make the second leap back over the street. His little brother balanced, checked his balance again and then leaped unerringly to such a narrow street light, all in one smooth motion. Even his rusty tendency to kneel, gather himself for just a moment, and then leap, all happened faster than Leonardo could process.

"And he's been laid up for weeks," Leonardo huffed to himself, taking another sip. "So not fair."

His voice died on the wind. The rooftops were silent, save for the passing of a car on the road behind. Headlights made the shadows lean one way, then the other. The wind caught the lanterns, making them sway and rock, and the shadows spun so wildly that Leonardo half-closed his eyes, turning away from the wild movement. The smoke of dozens of incense sticks ducked and rolled in the light. For a moment, the bricks seemed to crawl and the lanterns spun like skulls on a string.

And then he heard a scrape and muffled mutter as his little brother came back across, grabbing at the ledge and scrambling against the wall.

"Not bad?" Michelangelo asked as he climbed up, but his smile faded when he saw his older brother. "Whoa, dude, you okay?"

"Just...the light got weird." Leonardo shrugged it off, shaking his head. "Playing tricks, that's all."

He forced a smile, the one that usually made Michelangelo grumble about his smug big brother.

"Of course, the lights weren't as flashy as that jump you pulled," Leonardo said. "Anyone looking up would have totally seen you."

"Pfft." Michelangelo gave him a shove. "Then show me how it's done, oh master of the shadows. Get those swords you've been lusting after all night."

Leonardo didn't have to ask which ones. He'd specifically chosen this rooftop as directly across from Wei An Blades, the best sword shop in New York. He'd stolen so much from them that he'd developed a habit of leaving any money he lifted from the Foot clan or Purple Dragons in the shop mail box.

And they had a gorgeous pair of ninjaken swords on the wall in the main store.

"Hm." Leonardo tilted his head. "My swords _are_ pretty chipped."

"Although," Michelangelo said lightly, "y'know, they're not as good as katana."

Leonardo half smiled, not replying to his teasing. It was all too easy for a swordsman to fall in love with only one type of blade, but for a ninja, as long as his steel cut, he didn't care what type of sword he used.

As long as it was the best.

"Five minutes," he said.

"Ten," Michelangelo said. "No less."

Leonardo spared a moment to scan the street, watching the people move in groups, the couples hand in hand pointing out souvenirs to each other, the individuals taking photos for blogs. Children bought sparklers from a vendor with a spinning wheel. Leonardo followed the line of the lantern strings and the dark spots where their light didn't reach.

In a moment, the entire street seemed to pause. Groups crowded food trucks or shop windows, couples sat down to eat, and photographers focused on the displays at the street level. For one instant, all motion stopped.

Leonardo moved, not leaping from the ledge but instead creeping down the front of the building. Bricked window sills and friezes gave him enough handholds to quickly drop to the sidewalk, in the shadow behind the ice cream truck.

Watching from above, Michelangelo took another drink. From his vantage point, he wondered how Leonardo was going to move across the crowded street.

The fireworks vendor lit his wheel, igniting an explosive rat-tat-tat of firecrackers that flamed as they spun violently in the air. As everyone looked up, Leonardo moved below, swiftly darting through the broad shadow of a family all facing the other way.

"Aw," Michelangelo sighed. "That's totally cheating."

His brother didn't head into the sword shop but instead headed down the alley beside the shop, out of sight. Michelangelo poured himself another cup and finished off his ramen, drinking the last bit of broth. As another moment passed, Michelangelo reached beside himself and took the bowl he'd brought back for his brother.

He looked up and noticed that the swords had disappeared. He quirked a small smile.

"Now the way back," Michelangelo murmured. "And there's no handy firework vendor to help you this time."

"Nope," Leonardo said, grinning as his little brother startled and flung the ramen bowl into the air.

Leonardo caught the bowl, tilting it to save the noodles, then sat down on the ledge, tossing the swords to his brother.

"There's a dark patch by the caramel cart," Leonardo said. "And that's...four minutes?"

"Seven," Michelangelo said, unsheathing the swords. "You stopped to look at them, didn't you?"

"...maybe." Leonardo scooped down all the ramen and took a long breath. "They're really good."

"Yeah, these are pretty sweet." Michelangelo examined the hilts, tapping the brass squares of the tang, then hefted them in his hands. "And you left cash behind, didn't you?"

"Everything I had on me," Leonardo sighed. "I'll have to pay Raph back later."

"Oh, that'll make him really happy," Michelangelo deadpanned, handing the swords back. "So. Ice cream?"

No. Leonardo was surprised at how much he didn't want to stay there, at that particular spot on the roof. He gripped the swords harder than he should, taking comfort in sturdy they felt, their light weight and the balance inherent in each one. He could cut anything with those, surely. Surely.

He didn't turn around to look behind at the rooftop. He didn't want to.

"Actually," Leonardo said, "the concert's going to start pretty soon. Wanna head over?"

Michelangelo waved toward the food trucks. "I'm gonna make another run. I'll meet you there?"

"Sounds good."

After Leonardo gathered up the sake and swords, he also took up the caltrops he'd dropped before. Then up the rain gutter to the next rooftop, and from there, the buildings were so close in height that he could simply walk along the ledges to the farthest end of the street, the last building overlooking the pier and the concert stage.

Once again, he set out caltrops and scanned the streets all around the building. No alleys, just parked cars and the broad pier and boardwalk below.

They were lucky. Clouds trailed over the moon like black fingers, blotting out the light so that they had plenty of deep shadows to hide within. There was an ominous flash inside the clouds, the low rumble of thunder, but it was still far out in the harbor on the other side of the city. He judged they had a few hours before any rain.

Relaxing slightly, he watched the stage technicians making the final adjustments to the speakers and lights, putting out another row of chairs. One photographer tried to lift the red velvet rope around the front two rows, which had been left empty deliberately. As he started to sit, one of the security men ran by and shooed him away quickly.

"Back!"

Michelangelo set down two paper plates and two smoothies, then hauled himself over the side and sprawled out for a moment, breathing hard.

"Are you hurt?" Leonardo asked, starting to kneel beside him.

"No, you mother hen," Michelangelo said as he waved him away. "I'm tired! Food trucks are way harder to sneak stuff outta, and then climbing back up without anyone noticing...dude, unwrap one of those and hand it over, huh?"

Leonardo pulled the paper from what he discovered was a pork sandwich, handing it down to his little brother.

"Really?" he asked, starting on his own sandwich. "You didn't have a problem the first time."

"No kidding, man." Michelangelo sat up and breathed out hard. "I swear, the people here like tripled in just a couple minutes. But as always, I did not get caught. I did not get heard. And I did not trip or stumble."

The last part was said with such a triumphant grin that Leonardo couldn't help laughing.

"Okay, fine, fine," he said. "You're cleared for action. Just don't, I don't know, fall over or anything."

"Yes!" Michelangelo finished off his sandwich and then grabbed his smoothie, turning around and letting his arms dangle off the ledge. "I am so taking Raph back a souvenir. He should'a been here."

Leonardo half shrugged, sitting beside him. "Maybe it's better he didn't."

"Dude..." Michelangelo turned wide eyes on him. "Seriously? I know you two get pissy at each other, but that's cold."

"Not like that," Leonardo said. "I mean, he hates hiding. He would've been irritated we can't go down there."

He waved toward the stage. People were taking the last empty seats while others stood in the back or on the side, sitting on the curb as far as the security would allow. A soft beat started as the curtain rose, revealing the musicians-several women playing traditional instruments such as biwa or koto, strumming out what the crowd soon recognized as modern pop songs.

"He gets so cynical," Leonardo said. "If he was here, he'd get pissed that the songs weren't traditional. If they were, he'd be pissed that they didn't try to modernize it."

Michelangelo sighed. His older brother could probably recite a whole argument from Raphael without trying.

"Yeah," Michelangelo said. "But he would've liked being here anyway, even if he didn't say so. And it's so sweet, sitting out here in the open air instead of underground, and the wind is just right, and the food's awesome. He probably would've cheered up a little."

"Maybe..." Leonardo sighed and slumped against his little brother, who allowed it because the night wind, while perfect, was also a bit chilly. "I wish he'd come."

"What'd you argue about this time?" Michelangelo asked.

"We didn't," Leonardo said. "That's the thing. I asked if he wanted to come, and he just rolled his eyes and said it was lame and hid in his room."

"Bad night maybe," Michelangelo said.

The song changed, something upbeat and peppy, and Michelangelo sat up again so he could look over the side.

"Man, that's crowded," he said.

Leonardo nodded. "It's gonna be tight, getting the parade past the stage."

"I dun think they can," Michelangelo said, shaking his head. "I mean, they even had to fill up the first two rows. Don't they never do that?"

Leonardo's brow furrowed. "What?"

He sat up, following Michelangelo's look. Nothing looked different. The women played on stage, the security muscle men blocked people from getting too close, and several people crowded along the curb, knowing the parade would come soon.

"Mikey," he said, "you mean the rows behind the rope, right?"

"No," Michelangelo said, pointing at the rows circled by the red rope. "The ones right in front of the stage. They're totally packed."

Leonardo felt a chill that did not come from the wind. He couldn't bring himself to move, staring at the empty seats. No one around the stage acted like anything was out of the ordinary, and the little laser show sweeping over all of the seats simply did not fit with the thought racing through his mind.

Well, he thought, surprised at how calm he felt. That would explain why he said there were more people here...

"Dude?"

"Look down at the street," Leonardo said slowly. "Tell me what you see."

Frowning, Michelangelo looked over the ledge and started describing the festival below.

"Um, there's a ton of people down there," he started. "There's a stage with chicks playing music, and the whole place is filled up with people sitting down, standing in the aisle, sitting on the edge of the stage. Uh, there's a couple people climbing up the street lamp for a better look."

He glanced at Leonardo, who didn't say anything, and continued.

"There's also, like, a dozen people standing around the sushi cart, and sitting on it. And there's a buncha kids running around after their parents, and-oh wow. That cross and the white candles, there's a chick there chewing on the candles."

Leonardo imagined that less as a real girl and more as something out of one of Master Splinter's wall scrolls, the floating girl with long black hair and bloodied face. He ducked back down behind the ledge, gathering his legs underneath himself.

No, he thought. I'm just tired, and Mikey's playing games. He knows I read Splinter's books. He just got me wound up and that's all.

"If you're joking," Leonardo whispered, "say it now. I won't get mad. Good job, you got me."

Michelangelo stared, shaking his head once. "Leo?"

"Please, Mikey," Leonardo said. "Just say it's a joke."

His eyes wide, not understanding, Michelangelo shook his head.

"Those seats are empty." Leonardo took another breath, repeating it more for himself than his brother. "Those seats are empty."

"What-?"

"Mikey, there's no one there. There's no one on the cart, and if there's a girl eating the candles..."

Michelangelo made a soft 'oh' of understanding.

"Oh, yeah...'cause hungry ghosts eat the offerings, and no one sits on sushi carts..."

Michelangelo stiffened, grabbing his brother's arm. "Oh my god, dude, there's ghosts everywhere!"

"Shut up!" Leonardo hissed and pulled him down behind the ledge as well. "You just got it? Did none of that clue you in that something was wrong?"

"What, like sitting on lamp posts?" Michelangelo rolled his eyes. "Newsflash, Leo, _we_ sit on lamp posts."

"We don't sit on-whatever." Leonardo cut himself off. "Did anything see you?"

Michelangelo shook his head. "No, I don't think anyone was looking at me."

"Okay. Okay." Leonardo closed his eyes to think. "Okay. We're going to leave. We're going to head back until we're sure nothing's following us, and then we're going home."

Michelangelo nodded, then winced. "Dude, what do we do if something does follow us?"

Leonardo looked up, his expression just as lost. "I don't know. Run? Pray? Jump in the river and hope it can't cross running water?"

"Dude, that's just vampires."

"Okay, going now," Leonardo said.

They stood and began walking to the far side of the building. Leonardo didn't pause to pick up the caltrops, deciding he'd come back sometime never. The faint rustle of plastic made him look back at his brother, who carried their sake and souvenirs in a thin bag. Not wanting to talk even to say to leave it, Leonardo instead picked out the quickest route down the side of the building to the sidewalk.

"If you see anything," Leonardo whispered, "let me know, but whatever you do, don't look it in the eye."

"Gotcha." Michelangelo looked around himself, then realized that was just asking for trouble and focused squarely on the ground in front of them.

TBC...


End file.
